To Catch a 'Bot
by sharky-chan
Summary: G1 Venture Bros crossover. Robots and wacky mishaps abound when the Decepticons and Autobots begin an epic struggle over Dr. Venture's not-at-all plagiarizing latest creation. Minions are squashed, Ironhide eats pudding and Starscream fails.
1. Prologue

**To Catch a 'Bot**

Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Venture Bros belongs to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.

**Notes:**  
I may have been the one to write it, but there are a number of guilty parties involved in its creation. You know who you are.

* * *

**Prologue**

"So we all remember last year's utter disaster at the UN's Scientific Symposium, right?"

"You mean the part where everyone laughed the Ooh Ray off stage, or when that ninja guy started humping it? "

The Venture family had gathered in the Compound's main hangar for the unveiling of Dr. Venture's latest creation. They waited with their usual enthusiasm – Brock looked bored, Hank and Dean distracted and H.E.L.P.e.R robotic. Venture had placed a large white sheet over the towering invention, but the figure beneath remained suspiciously giant-robot-shaped, so suspense did not run high.

Dr. Venture considered Brock's question, then decided, "Either one, really. The point is that this year my invention will shake the very foundations of science. It will herald a new era in the development of electronics and redefine the way the world considers life."

Dean looked tentatively impressed. "That sounds pretty cool."

Venture allowed himself a self-satisfied grin, "Yes, and the best part is not only do I get to play God, but also rub my superiority in the faces of all those bastards from last year's Symposium."

"Can we call it Mecha Shiva?" Hank asked with a sudden burst of attention span.

"Don't be an idiot, Hank. This –" Venture paused dramatically as he tapped a controller fitted in the palm of his hand. The sheet fell aside as he finished, "is Duskbird."

Duskbird was in fact a giant robot. What the sheet had succeeded in hiding was the giant robot's ninja-ness, complete with metallic facemask and hood – the whole ensemble painted in shades of dark grey just shy of black.

"Gee, Pop! This is your best invention ever!"

While Hank and Dean, as teenage boys, remained highly impressed, Brock responded with skepticism.

"A ninja giant robot?" He asked. "How's that supposed to work? Ninja's are stealthy and giant robots are...enormous. That thing's three stories tall. The only thing it can sneak into is a football stadium."

"Beep-beep beep beep," H.E.L.P.e.R added.

"H.E.L.P.e.R's right," Brock nodded. "It was in a Saturday morning cartoon."

Venture, slightly more defensive than usual, crossed his arms in annoyance. "Don't be ridiculous. I spent my childhood riding on magic carpets and getting kidnapped by Mole People; it didn't leave much time for sitting in front of the television. That I'd rip off some cartoon for ideas I intend to present to the worldwide scientific community is beyond absurd."

H.E.L.P.e.R tilted its head. "Beep beep."

"Of course not!" Venture exclaimed. "Nightbird is female, and Duskbird is clearly male. See? They're nothing alike."

"Pop, what's the difference between a male robot and a female robot?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, Dean. Now, if everyone is done wasting my time with stupid questions, I suggest we all get ready for our company."

"Company?" Brock turned his head in surprise. "Doc, you never said anything about company."

Venture shrugged. "Now, now, I didn't want you to worry. Some agency got wind of my invention and insisted on sending reinforcements to protect it until the Symposium."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Brock looked annoyed. Not "rip out someone's spine and strangle him with it" furious, but still on the peeved side.

Venture brushed aside his concern with a flippant wave. "I don't know the details. Not surprisingly a number of evil organizations are intent upon stealing Nigh—I mean Duskbird, so this special ops group wants to keep an eye on it. I wouldn't have accepted, except they agreed to rent a couple of rooms while they stay over, and we could really use the extra income."

"Special ops? Doc, it's just a giant robot. I've protected more valuable things before, and you know these people are just gonna get in my way."

"People? Did I say people?" Venture adjusted his glasses. "No one said anything about sending 'people' over."

Dean appeared slightly less confused than Hank, so he managed to ask first, "Then who are they sending, Pop?"

"Have you ever heard of the Autobots?"


	2. Chapter 1

**To Catch a 'Bot**

Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Venture Bros belongs to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The Monarch, alight upon his mighty throne, studied his arch-nemesis with the well-trained eye of a tiger swallow. A butterfly, by all appearances harmless, had made its way into the Venture compound and now spied upon the unsuspecting scientist and his latest creation.

One of the Monarch's henchmen – a mindless drone and ruthless killing-machine – astutely remarked, "That's a really big robot."

"Silence!" The Monarch cried, slamming a wrathful fist against his armrest. "That is not just a really big robot, but a creation perhaps worthy of even The Monarch. It is of the utmost importance that we steal it to use for our own nefarious purposes!"

The henchmen shifted uncomfortably. Stealing things from Venture meant entering the Venture Compound. And entering the Venture Compound meant encountering Brock Samson. And encountering Brock Samson almost always meant death. Mindless drones or no, the henchmen weren't big on death.

One brave henchman at last remarked, "So, er, how are we supposed to carry it?"

The Monarch rolled his eyes. "Morons." He turned to Dr. Girlfriend. "Dr. Girlfriend!"

A husky baritone voice replied, "What?"

The Monarch blinked. "You know. Do the thing."

"What thing?"

"Oh, I don't know. The thing we rehearsed. The thing where I shout 'Dr. Girlfriend!' and you push the button that reveals my dastardly scheme to everyone else. You know, that thing."

Dr. Girlfriend rolled her eyes and began to work at the control panel. "You don't have to be sarcastic," she muttered, doing the thing.

The control room's screen flickered then switched to a live feed of The Cocoon's cargo bay and hangar. Or it would have been The Cocoon's cargo bay and hangar if Henchman Number 21 did not have his out-of-focus face shoved into the camera.

"Is this thing on?" He asked in the same way every idiot caught on camera asks, despite the obvious blinking red light.

"Of course it's on!" 24 shouted from somewhere off screen. "Now back up. You're so close, I can see your nose hairs and it's disgusting!"

"Okay, I just wanted to double check. I mean, The Monarch's gonna be pissed if everything isn't just perfect."

The Monarch was in fact resting his forehead on his palm, head shaking with the long-suffering look of a martyr. On camera, 21 at last stepped back so that The Monarch's latest creation – also hidden under a large white sheet – came into focus.

Rising out of his seat, The Monarch began, "I ask you, what better way to steal a giant robot, than to build a giant robot thief?"

"I dunno. We could use a crane."

"What? Who said that?" Monarch scanned the masked faces of his Henchmen, but no one 'fessed up. He shouted, "That's a dumb idea! How would we get a crane in the Venture Compound? And where would the crane go once it got the giant robot? Anyway, that was a rhetorical question, so shut up!"

Everyone shut so The Monarch could continue in a testier, less self-satisfied tone. "Of course, to build a giant robot is its own challenge; one that even The Mighty Monarch required assistance for." The Monarch pressed the speaker button on his armrest. "Megatron!"

The camera jumped in time with the sound of heavy metallic footsteps, and a large gray robot appeared on screen, moving to stand beside the sheet-covered object.

The Monarch gestured. "This is my associate, Megatron!"

"Greetings puny Earth-germs." Megatron acknowledged the henchmen as he gestured to the white sheet. "What you see here is a perfect blending of superior Cybertronian technology with Earth's excellent, but admittedly puny, sense of style."

Clearly Megatron and The Monarch had spent many an hour rehearsing, for The Monarch immediately jumped in, "Yes, our creation, housed in an impenetrable titanium form, nevertheless has the deadly grace of a butterfly. Gentlemen!" He glanced at Dr. Girlfriend. "And Dr. Girlfriend! I present to you...

"Flutterwing!"

The sheet fell off and the henchmen could only stare. As the silence lengthened into something long and uncomfortable, both Megatron and The Monarch began to fidget with uncertainty.

At last Megatron demanded, "Well, flesh tubes! What do you think?"

21 volunteered, "It's very...pink."

* * *

"I don't like it," Brock muttered.

Venture popped another pill and shrugged. "You don't like anything. I told you already, there's no need to worry. They'll pay the rent, hang around the compound and after I take Duskbird to the Symposium, they'll leave."

Brock responded with an unhappy grunt. Hank and Dean, on the other hand, appeared overjoyed at the arrival of the Autobots now shuffling into the main hangar.

"Gee golly! Look at the size of 'em!" Hank exclaimed.

"Yeah! Think of all the larger-than-life adventures they must go on!" Dean rejoined.

"Go Team Venture!" The boys did their thing.

Venture rolled his eyes. "Now, now, boys, it's a bit early for that, don't you think?"

One of the robots stopped in front of him then kneeled so Venture was closer to optic-level. As it spoke, the LED-lit ears glowed blue.

"You must be Dr. Venture. I'm Wheeljack, chief scientist of the Autobots, and these are my companions, Ironhide and Arcee."

The sturdily-built red mech turned with a casual salute, and spoke in a lazy Texas drawl, "Ironhide, at your service."

"And I'm Arcee," the slender pink mech announced in a decidedly feminine voice.

"Yes, yes, because I really care," Venture greeted them with his usual charm. "Look, Energon is in that fridge over there, your rooms are in the west hangar and anything you step on, you buy, are we clear?"

Wheeljack looked mildly taken aback, "Well, sure, but I thought as fellow scientists, we could –"

"And I guess you thought wrong." Venture interrupted. "The day I need scientific advice from an over-sized toaster is the day that –"

"I feel such shock! Such repulsion!"

Venture paused, "Well that too, but I meant –"

"Mr. Venture!" The voice cut in again, this time ringing loud with the power of Deep Magic, forged in the bowels of an unborn world and hardened by Enzauh, god of Chill Chaos.

"Orpheus," Venture muttered between clenched teeth. If the voice hadn't tipped him off, the accompanying background music of equal drama would have.

Orpheus strode across the hangar, taking unusually large steps, and leveled an accusing finger at Venture.

"The levels of your depravity never cease to amaze me, Dr. Venture! I could forgive harvesting the sorrow of an orphan child and I could even ignore replacing my chunky peanut butter with that foul smooth kind that is not even formed from 'all-natural' ingredients, but this!" He gestured for emphasis. "This, I cannot let pass!"

Venture pinched the bridge of his nose and asked with exaggerated patience, "Did someone forget to take his medication today?"

"Ah. Sarcasm. How...typical." Dr. Orpheus sneered back. "I resent that you would imply my concern for human souls and the precarious balance of our world in the infinite cosmos has something to do with my lack of drug use. No! I have not forgotten my medication, nor have I forgotten my place as guardian of this plane of existence."

His hands began to glow with tendrils of energy, and he pointed an accusing finger at Ironhide. "Metal monster! Relinquish that soul you hold captive within your accursed mechanical parts!"

A bolt of magic flew out and struck the mech squarely on the shin.

"Ow! What was that for?" Ironhide exclaimed with chagrin, rubbing the scorch marks on his armor.

"Silence, golem!" Orpheus performed a neat tuck and roll then shot off another round of magic. The bolts again struck Ironhide on the leg, and caused the mech to hop in pain.

"Son of a capacitor! I'm gonna squish yer flesh bits into coolant!"

Arcee and Wheeljack rushed to restrain him, now that he had switched his hand into its gun mode. Ironhide tried to pull it out of Wheeljack's grasp long enough to aim at Orpheus, but Arcee stood squarely in front of him so the mech could not get a clean shot.

At once Brock ran over to pull the boys away from the stomping metallic feet, but Venture merely sighed. "Orpheus, can you stop shooting your magic fairy dust or whatever at the other tenants?"

Orpheus paused. "Tenants? These are...guests, like me?" The magic fire faded from his fingertips. "But I thought they were your latest project. Robots come to life by draining the very essence of unfortunate humans to sustain their unquenchable thirst for raw energy."

"For once, no, but that's definitely going onto my 'To Do' list."

The magician's expression changed to embarrassment, and as the last traces of his righteous indignation faded, so did the background music. "Oh. Well then." He looked up at Ironhide, who had lowered his gun-arm at Arcee's insistent whisperings but still seethed. "I'm terribly sorry about the whole 'shooting bolts of Arcane Magic' at your legs while calling you a vile abomination that should not walk this earth. I've got rice pudding in my quarters if that can, in any way, make my behavior right."

After a dangerous pause, Ironhide's hand switched out of gun mode and his chassis visibly relaxed. "Well, I guess it was a reasonable misunderstandin' and you humans do make pretty good pudding."

"Then it is settled!" Orpheus proclaimed as the background music returned. "At a later date, I will adjourn with the sentient machine to feast upon my supply of delicious and freshly-made rice pudding!"

As Orpheus started for the exit, Venture shook his head in irritation. "That's it? Not that I want you to stay or anything, but you come into my hangar, try to kill the other Compound tenants, decide to eat pudding, then leave? Why the hell did you come here in the first place?!"

"Oh yes." Dr. Orpheus looked over in surprise. "I'd rather forgotten in all the commotion." He raised a clenched fist skyward. "Mr. Venture, my daughter seeks a cup of sugar for the creation of snickerdoodles – a variety of sugar cookies that Pumpkin informs me are quite tasty. You make partake of them for your assistance!"

"Yeah, whatever. Sugar's in the kitchen, take as much as you want, just get out of my sight."

"Much obliged!" Dr. Orpheus vanished in a poof of smoke as he astral-projected to the kitchen.

"Geez, I'm beginning to agree with you that this was a bad idea," Venture remarked to Brock.

Brock only grunted. He was staring at Arcee, who now carried a crate labeled "Danger: Possibly Explosive" over to Wheeljack. As the 'bot thanked her, her optics met Brock's eyes and she coughed with nervousness. After a moment of hesitation, she ducked out of the main hangar.

Brock looked over at Venture as if noticing him for the first time. "Hey Doc, I got something to take care of. Look after the boys, okay?" Before Venture could reply, his bodyguard strode out of the hangar, trailing the pink 'bot into the hallway.

"Wha...but I," Venture caught sight of Hank and Dean out the corner of his eye. "Boys! How many times do I have to tell you not to play with ray guns created by giant robots?!"

The twins had rooted through Wheeljack's crate and, having emptied a sizable pile on the floor, now attempted to level guns larger than themselves at each other. After Venture's chastisement, they set the weapons down with obvious disappointment.

"But Pa!"

"No buts. Now you boys go on play somewhere outside and far away from your father."

Shoulders slumped, they slunk out of the hangar and into the sizeable fields surrounding the Compound.

"Gee, Pa sure was sore," Hank muttered.

"Now, Hank," Dean cut in. "He's got a lot of scientist-stuff to do before the big Symposium, so we'll just have to find our own adventure!"

"Dean, sometimes you got a real good head on those shoulders of yours!" Hank nodded with approval. "I don't suppose you know of any mysteries that need solving?"

"Wrong again, dear brother. In fact I do suppose!" Dean fished in his pocket and pulled out a palm-sized metal cylinder. Its only distinguishing feature was an invitingly large red button on the top.

Hank looked impressed. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I found it in Wheeljack's stuff. It was the only human-sized thing in there. I call this 'The Case of the Big Red Button!'"

"Can we push it?" Hank poked a finger at the big red button, but Dean just as swiftly pulled it out of reach.

He gave his brother a disapproving glare. "If you push it, it won't be a mystery any more! We should wait till we gather more clues."

Disappointment crossed Hank's face, but it at once turned to jubilation when he glanced down at the ground before them.

"You mean like this?" He stooped down and snatched up a small red and black tape nestled in the grass. "A Mysterious Tape lying on the ground, and we find it just after obtaining the Big Red Button. Coincidence? I think not."

"Ahh, the mystery deepens." Dean rubbed his chin, his eyes scrunched in an expression of great wisdom. "Let's keep going while we've still got a trail."

Hank would have complied had the tape not suddenly transformed into a metallic eagle. As it sprouted wings, yellow eyes glowing in malevolence, the creature grew in size and let out an angry hiss. The boys panicked.

"Tape-deck poltergeist! Run!"

They had time for only a few staggering steps before the mech reached out with gleaming robotic talons and grabbed them by the shoulders. Cawing in triumph, Laserbeak kicked on his afterburners and shot toward The Cocoon – human captives in tow. If they tried to scream, it was lost to the fast-moving winds of Laserbeak's wake.


	3. Chapter 2

**To Catch a 'Bot**

Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Venture Bros belongs to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Wasn't Flutterwing a My Little Pony?"

"Actually no. Although Flutter Ponies were a variety of My Little Pony, distinguished by their small size and gossamer wings, the name 'Flutterwing' was never used for any individual figurine."

The team of Decepticons, which accompanied Megatron to The Cocoon, now made themselves at home. Already they had set up a makeshift headquarters in the cargo bay, and The Monarch deployed his henchmen to deliver their supply of Energon. Although the henchmen complied with their usual enthusiasm, the heavy lifting caused 21's asthma to flare, so he and 24 had no choice but to pause and discuss the intricacies of Flutterwing, The Monarch's three-story tall pink robot with butterfly wings.

"I could have sworn my little sister had one called Flutterwing," 24 continued with dogged insistence. "It was pink with blue hair and there were wind chimes on its ass."

"I told you, there's no Flutterwing! You just described Wind Song, who is one of Flutter Ponies but –"

"Did you say Flutter Wing?"

21 threw up his hands in disgust. "Wind Song. Wind Song! Dude, they're toys collected by twelve-year-old girls. Why is it so hard for you to keep them straight?"

"I don't know," 24 crossed his arms. "Maybe because they're really gay."

"It's that kind of ignorant attitude that takes the fun out of figurine-collecting." As he spoke, 21 mirrored 24's defensive posture. "My Little Ponies have just as much value as G.I. Joes or McFarlane Toys, you know."

"I didn't say they weren't valuable; I just said they're gay. G.I. Joes are gay too."

"G.I. Joes are real American heroes! How can they be gay?!"

"How can they not be gay? I don't trust any burly man with a mustache behind me. I saw that episode of OZ."

"OZ takes place in a prison. The G.I. Joes are America's –"

"Why the hell are you standing there doing nothing?" The Monarch screamed at the two henchmen as he passed. "Get back to work!"

"Yes sir!" 24 hurried back to the cubes of Energon and 21 wheezed after him.

Starscream, who lounged by the cargo bay door, sneered in contempt. "Well at least you're good for something, even if it is only ordering around idiots."

The Monarch stopped in mid-step to return the Seeker's venomous look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You heard me!" Starscream took the few steps needed to loom over The Monarch. "The only ones that listen to you are idiots. Certainly Megatron is one for joining forces with you."

Rather than becoming intimidated, The Monarch shrieked up at the machine, his fist quaking with rage. "This plot is nothing without me! I created the original designs for Flutterwing!"

"Yes, and you made it pink. And then named it Flutterwing. It sounds like some kind of squishy, organic equine."

"Flutterwing is based on a butterfly! Both beautiful and deadly, it is Earth's most fearsome creature. And it's not pink; it's fuchsia." The Monarch's feeler eyebrows twisted even more as he hissed, "Fuchsia is Nature's camouflage!"

Not at all impressed, the Seeker crossed his arm units. "Hmph. Fuchsia or pink, it doesn't matter. As Megatron's second-in-command, I hereby revoke your naming and coloring privileges."

The Monarch's face blanched as he sputtered in fury, "You...you can't do that! Anyway, you're just a second-in-command. As first-in-command, I retain all naming privileges and you're an asshole, so piss off!"

"Robots have no need for your primitive Earth assholes," Starscream informed him. "And once I overthrow Megatron and take my rightful place as Decepticon leader, I will crush you and your organic followers!"

"Traitorous junk heap!" Springing into action, The Monarch emptied a round of his lethal darts into Starscream's ankle.

Even if the projectiles had managed to pierce the robot's armor rather than bounce off harmlessly as they did in actuality, the poison still would have failed to enter Starscream's non-existent bloodstream.

The Monarch seemed to realize the fatal flaw of his plan when Starscream cackled, "Ha! Your Earth-weapons are no match for my superior Cybertronian design. Face my wrath, flesh-tube!"

A mechanical foot crashed toward The Monarch, but due to some glitch in Starscream's system, the Seeker misjudged by several feet. His foot not only missed the intended victim entirely, but also clipped the ground, causing him to slip. As he tumbled to the floor with a metallic crash, the floor quaked in the aftershocks of his fall, and The Monarch lost his balance and joined the Seeker in rolling on the ground in pain.

As used to blatant incompetence as the henchmen were, the henchmen still looked away in embarrassment. Because the Decepticons expected this sort of thing to happen every two or three Earth days, they mostly ignored Starscream's flailing, except for Blitzwing who let out a hiccupping giggle. Rolling his optics, Astrotrain elbowed his friend in the side and ordered him back to work.

Several awkward moments passed before The Monarch and Starscream could stifle their groans enough to rise to their feet. They had only halfway accomplished this task when Megatron stomped through the door, Dr. Girlfriend almost running to keep up with the giant mech's stride.

"Starscream, stop being an idiot," Megatron shouted without bothering to look over where Starscream still struggled to stand. The Decepticon leader instead regarded his human partner. "Monarch, we have good news."

"Oh?"

With Dr. Girlfriend watching, The Monarch tried to act nonchalant, as if he hadn't been busy embarrassing himself for the past half-hour. He pretended to be bending over in order to tie a shoelace, having forgotten that his beloved Butterfly Clogs lacked laces. Dr. Girlfriend thoughtfully pretended not to notice.

Megatron, who really had not noticed, gestured for a boxy blue robot to step forward. "Soundwave, tell The Monarch what you've found," he commanded.

Giving his leader a courteous nod, Soundwave addressed The Monarch in a flat, mechanical voice. "My sub-unit, Laserbeak, kidnapped two carbon-based organisms from the Venture Compound and has taken them prisoner in a nearby Decepticon hideout. They appear to be upgrades of carbon life form Thaddeus Venture – what you humans call his offspring."

"What? You kidnapped his kids? What were you thinking? This is horrible! Now Brock is going to come here and shove our kneecaps up our – " The Monarch paused as understanding came to him like the slow, but persistent, waves of a butterfly's wings.

"Yes, of course. You're robots. You don't have asses to shove kneecaps up." With a cackle, The Monarch wrung his hands in triumph. "And when Brock comes here looking for those two insufferable larvae, you robots will make quick work of him, while we strike at the Venture Compound and take my foe's mighty invention!"

"Yes, it is an excellent plan," Megatron conceded. "I hoped to meet this Brock flesh-organism. He sounds almost worthy of battling the mighty Megatron."

"Still, we should remove their wristwatch communicators so it'll take him longer to track them down," The Monarch decided. He had his doubts about Megatron's ability to survive a Brock-encounter.

Giving Soundwave a sharp nod, Megatron commanded, "Soundwave, watch over our prisoners, and relieve them of those communicators. Make sure they are properly jammed."

"Yes, Lord Megatron," Soundwave bowed before moving toward the cargo door. As the robot launched himself into the sky, The Monarch gestured to his own henchmen.

"Prepare Flutterwing! I will accompany my creation and a small team of elite henchmen in the theft of Venture's robot." He turned to Dr. Girlfriend. "Pookums, I leave you in charge of the remaining minions."

"Yes, dear." Dr. Girlfriend gave The Monarch a fond look and kissed his cheek. "Oh, I'm so proud of you," she whispered to him in her husky voice. "You and Flutterwing are going to do great."

The Monarch blushed. "Funny face, not in front of the giant robots," he muttered, but he wore a pleased expression.

She merely winked before walking off to direct the henchmen.

Starscream sneered. "How that female unit stands your presence is beyond computation. I'd rather stick my transistors in an acid bath than work with you."

"Starscream," Megatron announced. "You'll work with The Monarch and his team on their mission."

"But Megatron –"

Megatron backhanded the Seeker, who again crashed to the floor. "If I wanted to hear your infernal excuses and whining, I would not smack you every time you switched on your vocal processors. Now go!"

The Monarch gave a small snigger of triumph as he went over to inspect Flutterwing. A cursory glance satisfied him, and he shouted, "Bring Flutterwing's processors online!"

Starscream stumbled to the hangar door and stood beside the human-made robot. As it powered up, he gave the butterfly bot a resentful look. Flutterwing had begun to move, his magenta optics flashing to life as he examined his surroundings for the first time.

The Monarch looked too pleased as he proclaimed, "Flutterwing, I am your father. Join me and together we can rule the planet as father and robot."

Flutterwing analyzed the life forms within the hangar as he considered his creator's command. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and took a lurching step forward.

The Monarch coughed. "Of course, first we have steal Dr. Venture's stupid robot, so in the meantime, you're going to fly me over there."

A flicker of confusion passed across Flutterwing's face but it took only a few more astroseconds for him to acknowledge and transform into his alt-mode – a mechanical butterfly as pink as the robotic form.

As The Monarch clambered up to the cockpit, he unleashed one final monologue. "Let us fly, Flutterwing! And like a moth to the flame, we shall unleash a hurricane of destruction!"

Grinding his teeth, Starscream hissed, "You're mixing your metaphors, you imbecile."

If Starscream's knowledge of Earth-culture impressed The Monarch, he revealed it only by shouting back, "Shut up! Flutterwing, launch!"

The mechanical butterfly flapped its mighty wings and wafted out the hangar door. It was about as intimidating as one might expect of a robotic pink butterfly. Starscream looked like he might vomit coolant in humiliation at any moment.

"Starscream..." Megatron warned him in a tone that implied all sorts of violence.

For one astrosecond, Starscream looked as if he might try to inspire another coup rather than follow a pink butterfly robot, but a glimpse of Megatron's increasingly irate expression made him think twice.

"Slag it. As you command," he muttered then dove out the hanger door. Midair he transformed into a jet and shot after Flutterwing who flittered with surprising speed.

As Blitzwing watched Starscream and Flutterwing disappear on the horizon, he gathered enough courage to ask, "So wha'do we do now, boss?"

Megatron's optics homed in on the triple-changer and gleamed red and angry. "Guard the base, of course. And maybe try acting competent for once." The Decepticon leader stormed off to the main part of The Cocoon.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, 24 asked, "Is your boss always this pissed off?"

Astrotrain shrugged, "Nah. Only when he talks to Starscream, really. Deep down, in his core processors, he's actually thrilled. I mean, our plans never go this smoothly when it's just us."

21 gave a sage nod. "Honestly it's the same for us. I can't remember the last time one of us didn't f*** it up."

Mixmaster's grin was only a little loopy as he decided, "The boss is pleased, Starscream ain't around to run his vocal unit, an' for once we don't hafta deal with those Auto-dweebs. I gotta say, today's goin' awfully well. What do you flesh tubes say to a little toast?"

* * *

Wheeljack dumped out the contents of the crate. His optics had already scanned at full magnification, but he wanted to be positive, so he went through item by item. When he finished rooting through his tools for the third time, he accessed his memory cache to replay the earlier events of the day. 

He knew with a 99.99998% certainty that he had placed the device into the crate, so it could not be back at his lab. Nor was it here. His emotion engine registered mild concern.

"Hey, Dr. Venture!"

Venture looked up from the readouts on Duskbird. "Yes?" he asked in a way that clearly meant "leave me alone."

The robot did not get the hint. "Have you seen my Auto-Alt Transfixatron?"

"No." Venture returned to his work.

"But I didn't even tell you what an Auto-Alt Transfixatron looks like!" The scientist bot sounded suspicious.

After a weary pause, Venture swiveled his chair around to fully face Wheeljack. He sighed. "Okay. Fine. What does your AutoCAD Fixadent look like?"

"The Auto-Alt Transfixatron," Wheeljack explained in a patient voice but his blue optics gleamed with the beginnings of irritation, "is a device I created for human use. It sends out an electrical signal that reroutes the subroutines of all mechs in a fifty foot radius, forcing them to convert then lock into their alt-mode."

"Whassawhonow?"

"It changes us Transformers back into cars and keeps us there."

"Huh." Venture scratched his chin. "That's not a half-bad invention."

"Yeah, but as even you could imagine, in the wrong hands, it'd be devastating. It's only a prototype. The circuitry is encased in a simple metal cylinder, with a red button to activate the program. Have you seen it?" Wheeljack asked again with increasing urgency.

"Uh..." Rather than waste his time trying to recall if he'd seen the device somewhere in the lab, Venture spent the few precious moments of stalling to come up with excuses. "Lemme ask Brock. I'll be right back," Venture lied.

Venture hopped out of his seat and wandered from the lab. Only when he was out of Wheeljack's line-of-optics did he wonder, "Where the hell is Brock, anyway?"

"Dr. Venture to Brock," With his wristwatch communicator pinched between his fingers, Venture spoke in a low voice.

Only static answered.

"Hmm, must've been turned off." A sinking feeling began to worm its way through Venture's stomach. He remembered the last time this had happened – when Brock had died, but Venture managed to resurrect him with the unholy magic of Dia de los Muertos.

Or something.

By the time Brock had risen from the grave like some kind of ultra-violent zombie Jesus, Venture had been running on no kidneys, a H.E.L.P.e.R dialysis machine and a bottle of Mexico's finest gut-rot, so the events were pretty hazy, even at the time.

With some trepidation, Venture slunk down the corridor. He considered turning on the GPS system that would locate his bodyguard whether or not the communicator functioned, but before he could flip it on, he heard a distant, repetitive noise.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

If anything, a childhood of boy-adventuring had taught him that such a noise could only result in trouble. Venture's first instinct was to turn around, but that would mean not finding Brock as well as returning to Wheeljack's increasingly unfriendly gaze.

Also there was that whispered urging of his subconscious that somehow sounded exactly like his father. _You hear that, Rusty? I'm not sure myself what it is, but we'll never find out if we stay here!_

His father – tall and strong and everything he hated and admired all at once. And always that smile, always that unconditional love. Venture ground his teeth. He could never say no to his father's voice, even when it was just his subconscious being a bitch.

"Screw this," Venture muttered as he began to follow the thumping. As he walked, he fumbled around in his pocket for some condensed courage. When he managed to pull out his special blend of self-medication, the scientist popped a couple tablets into his mouth.

No point dealing with reality while sober.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

The thumping had definitely gotten louder, and Venture stopped before the door to the noise's origin. The pills could no longer deaden all his senses, but they did create a nice sensation of floating, which Venture decided was good enough.

"Oh, what the hell. Just do it, Rusty," Venture muttered to himself.

Yet when he reached for the door's handle, the sound abruptly stopped. The scientist stopped as well, hesitant and somehow even more uncomfortable in this strange, new silence. After taking a moment to re-gather his nerves (and pop an extra pill for luck) Venture pushed open the door.

Venture had expected any number of things, most of them involving some form of mummy or Frog Warrior. He did not expect the pink robot – Arcee, or something equally ridiculous sounding – to stagger out.

She almost stepped on him, but leaned against the doorframe at the last moment so her foot did not crush his juicy bits.

"Oh! Sorry about that, Dr. V!" She giggled in a way that said it all before weaving her way down the hall and back toward the hangar.

A wave of nausea passed over Venture, and he was too busy feeling sick to notice Brock zipping up his pants and coming to stand next to him. His bodyguard was smoking a cigarette.

"What's up?" Brock asked in a husky, sedate voice.

All of Venture's concerns and fears quickly and easily drained away into shock and horror. He pointed after Arcee's retreating figure and could not quite keep his jaw from hanging open.

"How did you...where does she...wait, never mind. I don't want to know." Shaking his head to clear out any unnecessary images, Venture continued in a more biting tone, "Look, I have important scientist-type business to take care of. Why don't you go put on a shirt and look after the boys, hmm?"

Venture snatched the cigarette from Brock's mouth and dropped it to the floor. Luckily for Venture, Brock looked more bemused than angry as the scientist ground it out under his heel.

"And what have I told you about smoking in the compound?" Venture snapped. "Now go and do your bodyguard thing. Shoo!"

Venture stalked away, the Auto-Alt Transfixatron entirely forgotten.


	4. Chapter 3

**To Catch a 'Bot**

Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Venture Bros belongs to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

With Starscream far away on assignment, Megatron discovered The Cocoon could be pleasantly tranquil. He looked up and down the wide hallways with something just short of awe, and as he considered kicking up his pistons after the long day of scheming, his hydraulics let out a squeal of anticipation.

He ducked through the corridors and made his way farther from the cargo bay. Even halfway across The Cocoon, he could still hear the sounds of the henchmen and Decepticons carousing, and while the petty, malicious part of him wanted to burst in and yell until his 'cons peed coolant, the desire to sit down and switch off his auxiliary processors overrode all others.

He accessed The Cocoon's blueprints in his main processor and plotted a route to the prison cells. One of the few places on The Cocoon that could comfortably situate a mech of his size, this area was also located in a remote section that would ensure privacy. Thus it surprised him to find the area not entirely empty when he poked his head through the doorway.

No longer in her stewardess uniform, Dr. Girlfriend wore only her undergarments – a gauzy pink thing that marginally covered her skin and barely concealed the parts beneath it. The areas it did manage to hide were presumably her genitalia, the configuration of which baffled Megatron as to how reproduction occurred. Yet he lacked the morbid curiosity needed to figure it out.

"I'm sorry, do you need something?" The human lounged in one of the guard's chairs, and his processors recognized her reading material as an Earth romance novel.

Megatron coughed, "I wanted to get away from the noise those flesh-tubes dressed as butterflies are making."

Dr. Girlfriend straightened up and gestured to the vast empty space outside the cells, "Well, have a seat. I won't bother you; I'm actually doing the same thing."

Once he had taken in the room's specs, Megatron plunked down next to the organic female. Already she had returned to reading the paperback, and he studied her out of the corner of his optic.

He knew enough about humans to realize she was considered very attractive, even if her vocal processors had some kind of permanent malfunction, but neither appearance nor voice interested him. Megatron considered her the most competent flesh-creature his long exile on Earth had forced him to work with.

Megatron spoke before he realized what he asked, "Don't you and The Monarch have your own private chambers?"

An embarrassed smile curved her lips as she shrugged, "Yeah, it's just...it's lonely in there without him." She toyed with the corner of a page. "I know how silly that sounds."

It did sound silly, but Megatron only nodded. Sad to say, this little flesh-organism before him remained his best chance for intelligent conversation on this planet. Starscream did not believe it, but Megatron had the capacity for tact.

"I personally enjoy getting away from my subordinates." His tone took on a hard edge as he clarified, "Some of them have a tendency never to shut up."

Dr. Girlfriend let out a soft chuckle in her husky baritone before replacing the bookmark and setting aside the novel. She mentioned, "The Monarch is quite the talker as well, but I've found he tends to stop once I do the tongue trick on his –"

At once she clapped a hand over her mouth but relaxed when Megatron continued to regard her with an oblivious, only mildly interested stare. Anatomically speaking, robots and humans were worlds apart. Black curls bounced as she gave her head a rueful shake.

"Look, I'm sorry," she muttered. "You come here for peace and quiet and I keep yammering on."

"I do not mind," Megatron admitted. "Despite your species' obvious inferiority, I find humans of some interest."

Long years in the company of villains had taught Dr. Girlfriend not to take offense at blatant insults, and she took the comment in stride, "Yeah, you and the Cobras do some work together every now and then. Actually I was surprised when you came to us. Weren't you guys in the middle of a dastardly collaboration or something?"

"Yes, but Cobra Commander was being a prick."

"Oh," Dr. Girlfriend shrugged, "in any case, it's nice to have someone to talk to. I've really enjoyed working on Flutterwing with you. I know The Monarch has as well."

Although Megatron had no programming for guilt or regret, he did feel a tingle of discomfort at the villainess' candid tone. In most situations he considered treachery and deceit standard operating procedure, but after a pause he admitted, "You do know that I consider your species a pestilence upon the face of the planet and intend to betray and destroy you all when I harvest the Earth's energy to fuel my war for intergalactic domination?"

"Of course! I wouldn't consider you a professional if it were any other way. You know, the Guild of Calamitous Intent could learn a lot from you Decepticons. With us it's all business; no one has fun anymore or does anything truly ruthless. Even The Monarch doesn't –" Dr. Girlfriend stopped herself.

"He does not what?" Megatron prompted with piqued interest.

After a moment of hesitation, she explained, "Well, let's just say for all his nefarious scheming, he tends to think small."

Megatron studied the woman with something just short of approval as he admitted, "Of all the carbon-based filth I've encountered on this planet, you are the most competent. Why not overthrow The Monarch and conquer this mud ball yourself? I would aid you for the time being, and might even let you know when I intend to betray you and destroy everything you have ever built."

Dr. Girlfriend reached over to pat the tip of his metallic finger. "Well that's very sweet of you, Megatron, but I'm sure you of all...robots can understand why that just isn't possible."

"I do not."

"You know how love makes us do crazy things." Since he continued to stare blankly at her, she added with an encouraging expression, "Just look at you and the red one!"

"What Optimus and I had ended a very long time ago. Even now I doubt he ever truly –" Dr. Girlfriend's expression turned to one of confusion, and Megatron trailed off, his regret souring into trepidation.

She clarified in an uncertain tone, "I meant the annoying red one. Your second-in-command."

Megatron hopped to his feet faster than if he had stumbled into electric waste.

"What? Starscream?! Of all the illogical human notions I have encountered –" Dr. Girlfriend gave him a look, but he sputtered on, "That I could even harbor anything but loathing for –" Another look. "Why would I –" Now an arched eyebrow. "Why would he –" Smirk.

Megatron's optics shifted as he concluded, "Our minions have become suspiciously quiet. I shall check on them."

The Decepticon leader tried to maintain as much dignity as possible making a hasty retreat into the hallway. Even with his back turned, he could feel Dr. Girlfriend's knowing eyes bore into him. If the robot had adrenalin and blood vessels, he would have blushed a deep red. As it was, his CPU whirred with excess processing and his hand itched to punch Starscream in the face.

This impulse so consumed his thoughts that Megatron did not become wary of the foreboding silence that practically emanated from the cargo bay. He did not consider the implications of the minions' sudden quiet, nor did he have time to prepare for the sight that greeted him when the door opened. He certainly could not help gaping for the few astroseconds it took his processors to return to the present and fully analyze the wreckage before him.

"What in the name of Cybertron is going on here?" He at last demanded in a voice of quaking fury.

Both the henchmen and the Decepticons were blitzed out of their minds and processors respectively. The hangar had moved so far past the realm of "trashed" and into "obliterated" that Megatron hardly recognized it.

Wires, still sparking, poked through large, newly-formed holes in the walls, and smoke leaked out of the dented and cracked pipes, giving the whole place a rather post-apocalyptic vibe. The large computers, brought in from the Decepticon base, lay shattered on their sides, and disco balls wobbled from frayed ropes above them. Orange wings, some whole and some in tattered ribbons, floated across the vast floor space like trash on a New York City street corner.

In the corner, a pile of empty Energon cubes served as cushions for a snoring Skywarp. Of the remaining Energon supply, the cubes still half-full now leaked badly, and in a good portion of those, Mixmaster had his face planted. Barely processing, Scavenger and Bonecrusher used each other as pillows.

Scattered amid the wreckage of their giant comrades, many of the henchmen were unconscious, but several had what appeared to be a dance party on Blitzwing, who remained conscious enough to tap his finger along to the non-existent music and mumble something incoherent about his lovely lady lumps.

When Megatron shouted, everyone who still functioned looked over at him, but no one possessed the sobriety to behave suitably frightened.

"It's a party in my chassis and everyone's invited!" Astrotrain called out from his place on the floor. His cargo door hung open, and Megatron heard a muffled "woo!" ringing within the inner compartment.

"Slagging fools!" The Decepticon commander roared, "Is this how you follow my orders to guard The Cocoon?"

Astrotrain and Blitzwing exchanged uncertain looks, but with a shrug, Blitzwing rose to his feet, dislodging a number of henchmen who toppled to their deaths.

In a voice slurred from over-energizing, Blitzwing reported, "Yes sir, Megatron sir! All Energon on the base has been accounted for and safely contained!" As he spoke, Blitzwing stumbled toward him.

This might have ended in wobbly success had he not also attempted to salute. His arm's arcing movement knocked the mech off balance, and he crashed down on several unfortunate henchmen. Despite the loud _crash_ and several, slightly softer _splurts_, the triple-changer looked only mildly concerned as he scrapped at the squishy bits now clinging to his back armor.

If anyone had the presence of mind to wonder what Megatron thought about this display, the Decepticon leader screaming "aargh!" answered the question. He clutched at his helmet and took the three steps needed to kick Blitzwing in the face. The mech fell over again, and finished off the few surviving henchmen behind him.

The random act of violence and unnecessary deaths seemed to calm Megatron, who consoled himself, "At least I have one dependable underling, who has yet to fail." He pointed an accusing finger at both Decepticons and henchmen and snarled, "You could all benefit by modeling your behavior on Soundwave's."

If Megatron had been a connoisseur of situational irony, he might have more appreciated the events occurring in the Decepticon prison even as he spoke.

"Hank, I-I'm scared." Rumble pushed Dean forward when he tried to turn toward his brother.

"Don't worry, Dean, I've got a plan," Hank murmured back.

It was more of a stage whisper than anything secretive, but Soundwave, having seized their wristwatch communicators, seemed content to walk ahead and ignore any antics. He had deployed Rumble and Ravage to act as the rearguard, so Hank and Dean required no shackles.

Hank gave Dean hurried instructions, "You distract them long enough for me to forge weapons made from the very objects in our surroundings."

"Like what?" His younger twin did not appear convinced.

"Like...um...that pointy rock over there," Hank pointed at a lumpy rock that could, by a generous definition, be considered pointy. "And that one over there. If I tie them together with my shoelace, they'll be, like, a rock spear."

"Aren't two rocks tied together called a bola?"

With a condescending smile, Hank patted Dean on the shoulder. "Just leave the fighting to me, Eisenstein, and we'll be fine."

"I don't know," Dean gnawed on his lower lip and glanced back at Rumble from the corner of his eye. "I mean these are giant robots. Evil giant robots. Maybe we should just wait for Brock."

"What?" Hank almost stopped in his tracks, but Rumble jammed the barrel of his gun into the boy's back until he started walking again. The blonde twin spared the mech a glance before he continued in a softer voice, "And let him have all the glory? How can you look Brock in the face after he's saved you all those times?"

"Um, easily?"

"No, Dean, it's time that we stepped up; it's time that we became men." He nodded at his brother, "So on the count of three..."

Hank began to count.

"One."

Uncertainty blossomed on Dean's face, "Wait, what are we doing on three?"

"Two."

"No, seriously, Hank, I forgot!" Uncertainty quickly grew into panic.

"Three. Yaargh!" Hank twisted around to tackle Rumble. And he would have tackled Rumble had his foot not caught on one of the rock spear's halves. As he tumbled forward, his elbow clipped Dean across the face and sent the younger twin backpedaling against the cavernous wall.

Several things happened in that moment. Hank missed Rumble entirely but succeeded in tripping on Ravage – boy and cat-mech falling into an uncomfortable heap of limbs and plate-metal. Soundwave's processors switched to battle-mode as he spun around and leveled his gun at the blond boy, but he wavered, unable to get a clear shot with his subunits' proximity.

Meanwhile Dean fell on his ass and said, "Ow!"

Something metallic in his pocket dug deep into his hip, and the pain lanced through his side sharp enough to outweigh the tingling across his face and the soreness down his back. With a minimum of fumbling, Dean reached in and pulled out the offending object, pressing its button in the process.

A burst of energy shot out. To the boys, it felt like nothing more than an unexpected brush of wind, but it hit the Decepticons as a wave of searing pain that raced through their circuitry, overriding the subroutines currently in execution and rerouting instructions with the ease of a stack overflow script.

With a squeal somewhere between a broken gearbox and a scream, Soundwave's considerable bulk smashed to the ground. The impact kicked up enough dust to send the Venture boys into fits of coughing.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, a desperate hand unsuccessfully protecting his nose and mouth. The very air stung, and he could only wait till some of the dust settled before cracking open his swollen eyes. Tears immediately formed a thin layer of protection but he still observed his brother, blurry and coughing, on the other side of the tunnel.

They were alone.

"What...what happened?" Dean asked.

Hank pushed himself up to his feet but swayed unsteadily. He still coughed behind the cuff of his sweater.

"I don't know," he admitted with a faint wheeze. "Maybe they went for backup?"

As hopeful as Hank sounded, Dean felt less sure, only conceding, "Well in any case, they left some of their equipment behind." He tottered over and picked up a blue tape deck nestled in the dirt.

"And lookee here! Even more tapes!" Hank enthusiastically waved at the two extra tapes he had discovered.

Exuberance replaced tentative caution at the discovery of more Clues, and Dean broke into a grin.

"Wow, Hank, we must really be onto something! Quick, let's get out of here before those robots come back." He hefted their newly discovered tape deck as they stumbled out of the cave and down the rocky path. "I bet this thing is just chalk-full of clues!"

"You're right about that, Dean!" Hank agreed. Soundwave probably did not.

* * *

Brock found the Doc back in the hangar. They were alone except for the inactive Duskbird, who remained statue-still in the corner. Venture pondered the breaker box inset into a small utility closet. 

"Doc, the boys are missing," the bodyguard began without preamble.

"Oh? Where are they?" Rather than look at Brock, Venture continued his inspection of the box.

"That's the point. They're missing. I don't know where they are."

Venture considered this as he flipped a switch, causing the lights above them to flick off. "Can't you find them through their wristwatch communicators?" Another flip and the lights turned back on.

Brock ground his teeth as he silently counted to ten. Contrary to popular belief, Brock Sampson did have the patience of a saint. It was just that, after years of babysitting the Venture family, he reserved it entirely for the Doc.

"Look, Doc, if they were wearing their communicators, this wouldn't be a problem. Something's happened. Maybe some kind of...jamming frequency or something. Anyway, the point is that I'm gonna need H.E.L.P.e.R if we want to find them."

Now Dr. Venture did look over with mild surprise, "What can H.E.L.P.e.R do?"

"He's a fully equipped forensic laboratory. Between his infrared sensors and particle analysis program, he'll be able to track them."

"Oh, hmm," Venture scratched his goatee as he turned back to the breaker box. "There may be a problem."

"What?"

"Well, you see, I took those components out of H.E.L.P.e.R so Duskbird could have them." With tentative fingers, Venture tried another switch and one of the Compound generators – its constant hum little more than white noise – whirred to a halt.

"Oops." Venture flicked the switch back on.

Brock ignored this mistake and asked with reproach, "You scavenged H.E.L.P.e.R for parts?" Although not the first time his employer had done so, nor probably the last, Venture's stinginess managed to shock Samson on occasion.

"Those parts were on backorder, and I didn't want to wait," Venture explained in a near whine. "I figured when the parts do come in, I'd reconfigure H.E.L.P.e.R."

"Reconfigure him now," Brock ordered in an insistent tone. "I need H.E.L.P.e.R."

Venture eyed his bodyguard with disbelief. "This close to the Symposium? Are you kidding?"

"Then let me borrow Duskbird. It might come in handy if there's a fight."

Brock thought it a reasonable compromise, but Venture arched an eyebrow in the way that meant "no."

In case Brock did not get it, Venture said aloud, "Um, no? He still has some tuning issues, and I'm not about to let the Symposium's grand prize slip through my fingers this year." As he spoke, Venture flipped the switch from earlier. The main lights went off again.

"There is no grand prize at the Symposium!" Brock's fist slammed into the wall next to the breaker box, but Venture did not look the least bit concerned.

In a reasonable tone, as if explaining something to a very small child, Venture rejoined, "But if there were, it wouldn't slip through my fingers." The lights came back on.

"Doc..." Brock spoke his employer's nickname as a threat.

"Sorry, Brock. This is too important," the scientist snapped. He added under his breath, "I just want to turn on the frickin' hose. Why is this so difficult?"

Brock flipped the correct switch then slammed the breaker box shut. He positioned himself so Venture had no choice but to look him in the eye, then said, "We're talking about your kids."

"And I'm sure they're fine!" Venture threw up his hands as he explained, "They're probably..."

Eyebrows narrowed, Brock supplied, "Somewhere on the compound?"

"Yes, they're somewhere on the compound," Venture nodded. "No one's trying to jam their wristwatch communicators or anything, it's just..." the scientist trailed off, fishing for the reasonable explanation that would get Brock to leave him alone.

Voice flat, Brock helped out, "Someone is sending out a jamming signal for something else, but it just happens to be on the same frequency that the communicators use?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

"Doc –"

"The answer is no, Brock." As he pushed forward, Venture's voice became a clipped dismissal, and the bodyguard had no choice but to let him pass.

Even so, Brock seethed; his teeth made an audible grinding noise as he used up the last bit of this month's patience and part of next month's as well. Doing his best to contain the growing frustration, he scanned the hangar with narrowed eyes.

Here lay boxes and boxes of equipment that the scientist robot had brought with him, Duskbird inactive by the corner, and even more supplies in the underground facility, but nothing Brock could use to find the boys. Samson did not have to imagine the boys dead or worse; over the span of nineteen years he had seen it all, and the memories returned to him unfaded by time and distance.

Dean decapitated, Hank's neck snapped, acid eating through their limbs, mutant eggs laid in their stomachs, fire, mummies, gas, blades, guns, rocks, flesh-eating bacteria, krakens. Brock had seen every imaginable variation, and it did not help that they were replaceable, that Venture could push a button and they would return alive and unharmed and only slightly amnesiac.

They didn't deserve death in the first place. They didn't deserve that sort of life.

Rage joined frustration as he considered his own helplessness, and his fingers quaked then curled into white-knuckled fists. Only a squeaky voice jolted him back to reality.

"Anybody near? Wheelie is here!"

A small orange mech poked his head into the hangar. The bot looked around the hangar, but seeing none of his Autobot companions, turned to Brock with a cheerful wave, his robotic sensors able to detect everything except murderous rage.

"You need help maybe, so Optimus send me!" Wheelie explained in a charming rhyme.

A red mist spread across Brock's eyes and obscured his vision. He could not see what happened next, but he could hear just fine, and the sounds of tearing metal, shattering gearboxes and a high-pitched metallic keen registered loud and clear.

_Thunkcrash._

Brock smelled scorched metal as the haze slowly dissipated and he returned to reality.

"Ooh, you did a number on it," Dr. Venture spoke from directly behind Brock's shoulder and Brock's breath hitched in surprise. He fought every soldier's instinct to whirl around and rip out his ambusher's throat, and with supreme effort, Brock turned around very slowly and faced his employer without causing bodily harm.

Not realizing how close he had come to death, Venture remarked, "Guess that answers the question about who would win in a fight, huh?"

"Doc, I –"

"Primus! What happened in here?!" Wheeljack had returned to the hangar, and upon seeing the carnage, dropped the equipment he carried and rushed to side of the dismembered bot.

Following close on the other's heels, Ironhide let out a cry of rage, "Slag it! Who could'a done such a thing? I'll turn him into scrap! I'll rip out his transistors and –"

"It's only Wheelie," Wheeljack interrupted once he'd located the mech's head unit and could properly identify him.

"Oh," Ironhide paused to process this information then deflated. "Meh."

"Um, yeah," Brock scratched the back of his mullet in embarrassment. "Sorry about dismembering your comrade. I got some, er, rage issues."

Wheeljack shrugged, "These things happen." The scientist bot rose and dusted off his hands. "Well, might as well cart this scrap out to the dumpster; it's taking up valuable space as is. Get the wheelbarrow, Ironhide."

"'Kay."

Venture and Brock regarded each other with uncertainty. After a moment, they too shrugged. The killing had calmed down Brock considerably, but he refused to drop the issue.

"Doc, the boys."

Venture gave up with a wave of his hand, "Okay, fine. Since you feel so strongly about it, I'll lend you the Walking Eye."

"The Walking Eye has infrared sensors and a particle analysis program?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because...because it's a Walking Eye! It does Walking Eye stuff, a large portion of which consists of sensing infrared waves and analyzing particles."

Brock merely stared until Venture turned away with a huff.

"What would you know?" He snapped. "I'm the super scientist, if you've forgotten, and that makes me automatically more qualified in the study of Walking Eyes. Do you want it or not?"

The bodyguard nodded but waited with skepticism. Venture reached into his pocket to pull out a remote control and lowered the winch holding the Eye. Once its spindly legs touched the ground, its single red optic glowed to life.

Brock looked suspicious, "So does it, like, transform or something?"

The Walking Eye helpfully transformed – legs rotating and coming together to form a single pole beneath it, while its optic slid shut and three blades budded from its spherical head. They began to spin.

Brock did not look impressed. "Oh good. A windmill. That'll come in handy if we encounter any strong gusts of wind or delusional knights."

Venture gestured to the hangar door with a jab of his finger.

"Get out of my lab."


	5. Chapter 4

**To Catch a 'Bot**

Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Venture Bros belongs to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.

**Notes:**  
Guest-starring a friend's professor, who may or may not be named Jeff.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The Monarch and his henchmen proceeded with predatory grace through the Venture Compound. Ducking behind retaining walls, slipping into the shadows, and evading the Compound's extensive security system, they reached a mech-sized runoff ditch just outside the main hangar without the least difficulty. The henchmen had long since mastered the techniques of noiseless stealth.

Mostly noiseless stealth.

While the robots, Starscream and Flutterwing, did an admirable job of moving quietly despite their considerable bulk, one of the humans refused to stop nattering in The Monarch's ear. His words formed a low, continuous stream of irritation that compounded The Monarch's semi-permanent migraine.

"So if you look at it that way, punk is the pinnacle of music. Every genre after is just the elements of punk broken down into their individual components, and everything before merely leads up to it.

"For example, compare Wagner's _Liebestod_ from the opera, _Tristan and Isolde_, to the Sex Pistol's _Holidays in the Sun_ to Rob Dougan's _Furious Angels_, and you'll notice that –"

"Will you be quiet?!" Unable to contain his fury, The Monarch leapt to his feet, but as he lacked his own skills in volume control, The Monarch not so much hissed the order as shrieked it.

The word "quiet" echoed through the suddenly still Venture Compound. With a wince, The Monarch surreptitiously glanced at the faces of his comrades. The henchmen refused to meet his gaze, Flutterwing looked confused and Starscream appeared more amused at The Monarch's discomfort than concerned about botching the mission.

In a softer but still insistent voice, The Monarch continued, "Look, we're on a very important mission right now. What's your Number?"

"My name's Jeff."

The Monarch glowered, "I didn't ask for your name."

Jeff looked liked he might protest but gave up with a resigned sigh, "I'm Number 47."

"Right. Number 47," The Monarch patted his shoulder. "Why don't you go on and do, like, reconnaissance or something, Number 47? Make sure to do it far, far away from us."

"I just don't think society gives enough recognition to the influences of –"

"Now, Number 47."

Wings drooping, the henchman sometimes known as Jeff shuffled off.

Once the man disappeared behind the Compound's hangar door, The Monarch muttered to the minion beside him, "Where the hell did we find that guy?"

The henchman shrugged, "Number 28 found him on the street. He'd lost his job as a college professor and was looking for new and exciting work possibilities."

"And we hired him?" The Monarch's eyes widened in disbelief.

Another shrug. "The Cocoon was running low on minions."

Since the start of the mission, Starscream had remained unusually silent – apparently the robot-equivalent of self-pity – but at this comment, he could no longer restrain a contemptuous sneer, "How typically human to run out of minions."

Jutting his sharp chin in outrage, The Monarch retorted, "It's quality, not quantity."

"You call that flesh sack 'quality?'"

"Oh, like you're so much better? You betrayed Megatron, like, five times since you came to The Cocoon. How are you a quality minion?"

"I deserve to be the Decepticon leader!" Starscream proclaimed in his loudest, shrillest audio output.

The Compound alarm began to blare.

No longer sneaking, Number 47 ran toward his companions at a full sprint. Only when he came closer could they could see why: Duskbird, now activated, moved with blurred Shinobi speed onto the Compound yard.

No one thought Number 47 would make it, least of all Number 47, so as the ninja crushed the human underfoot, everyone merely shuddered while Number 47 screamed out his last words, "F∗∗∗ Armageddon, this is Hell!"

The Monarch eyed the pulpy remains for only a moment before screaming the command, "Fire at will!"

Without hesitation, the henchmen shot off a round of Butterfly Darts, but as with Starscream, the projectiles bounced off the ninja mech, still bearing down upon them.

Panic contorted The Monarch's face as he yelped in desperation, "Starscream! Do something!"

"It's not fair," Starscream complained. He folded his arms in a pout, seemingly unaware of their impending deaths. "You screamed just as loud as me, but I alone set off the alarm? That's absurd!"

The Monarch urged the Seeker in an impatient voice, "Look, no one really cares right now, so you should get over here and do something useful."

"I want to know at what frequency the alarms are calibrated," Starscream huffed.

Even mere seconds away from death, The Monarch rolled his eyes, "Considering we're all about to be really boned, I don't think that's – aaaaagggghh!"

All The Monarch's coherent thoughts degenerated into gibbering terror as Duskbird raised his arm and shot a beam of energy. The human threw up his arms and turned away, but the finishing blow never struck.

Flutterwing, despite receiving no direct orders, had stepped in front of his creator and absorbed the laser blast. Although the butterfly bot skidded back, delicate metal feet leaving deep rents in the earth, he remained upright long enough to throw his weight at Duskbird. The two robots smashed through the side of the hangar, disappearing from sight in a shower of plaster and collapsing beams. The sound of their struggle echoed into the yard.

"Oh that's right," The Monarch sighed with relief. "Thank God I built my own giant robot, who's actually loyal and competent."

"I just don't think it's fair," the Seeker protested with a scowl.

"Well, sometimes life just ain't fair, Screamer," drawled a husky mechanical voice from behind The Monarch. Starscream nearly leapt out of his chassis before spinning around.

Ironhide stood battle-ready with his arm cannon directed at Starscream's head. Arcee crouched beside him with her own gun drawn and aimed at the Decepticon.

"Decepticons! Attack!" Starscream yelled as he rushed forward.

As the lone Decepticon, he not only was the first to reach the Autobots but also had no backup – two unexpected contingencies. Starscream realized his mistake when Arcee deftly twisted and delivered a roundhouse kick to his chest cockpit. He smashed into the ground, wingtips bending with every bounce as he rolled to an ungraceful stop.

In an uncharacteristic display of generosity, Ironhide decided not to shoot the Seeker but instead pummel him in the face. Starscream's sensory inputs fizzled before his pain dampeners kicked it, but even that could not quite dull the sensation of metallic knuckles rearranging his nose.

When Ironhide tired of that game, he switched his grip to Starscream's helmet and began smashing the Seeker's face into the ground.

Starscream gasped in desperation, "Megatron!"

Immediately the commlink sprang to life with a hiss of static, and Megatron's surprised voice growled into his subordinate's audio receptors, "Starscream? Report!"

_Wham._ "Too many –" _Wham._ "Autobots." _Wham._ "Send reinforce–" _Wham. _"–ments."

The repeated blows must have knocked something loose in Starscream's CPU, because time suddenly slowed to a crawl. He regarded the rocky soil before his face – now nearer, now farther – and admired the growing cracks that multiplied with each successive _wham_. It was actually kind of neat.

Starscream grimaced, trying to recall why he had contacted Megatron in the first place.

"Hmm," Megatron murmured at last. "Whatever it is, you'll have to handle it on your own. The Decepticons on base are in no position to provide backup."

Reality returned and Starscream became oppressively aware of Ironhide above him, grinding his face into the rocks.

"But Mega–" _Wham._ "–tron," the Seeker managed to whimper.

"No whining!" Megatron roared. "Now get back to your mission, and try to be a bit more stealthy. I can hear you stomping around even through the commlink!"

The line went dead, and Starscream groaned as something began bashing into his ventilators.

Guilt and horror played across The Monarch's face as he watched the carnage from afar. As much as the human despised Starscream, he could not help wincing every time the robot's face hit the ground. Scratching the back of his neck, The Monarch toyed with the idea of assisting the robot, but thought better of it when the pink Autobot began kicking Starscream across the chest and sides. He did not feel _that_ much sympathy.

"I should have known you'd be involved in this," a voice muttered beside him.

The Monarch turned to see his arch-nemesis standing only a few feet away. Dr. Venture's arms were shoved deep into his jumpsuit pockets and a grimace of annoyance twisted his lips as the robots smashed up his yard.

Dr. Venture admitted, "When I saw Duskbird kicking the crap out of that fruity butterfly robot, I had my suspicions."

"Flutterwing is not fruity! He is the sinister collaboration between my forces and that of the Decepticons. Once he defeats these meddling Autobots, we will abduct your ninja robot and defeat you once and for all!" The Monarch declared, but his eyebrows scrunched in doubt when he noticed Starscream's feeble attempts to protect his face.

All signs indicated that winning would not occur in the foreseeable future.

"Or as soon as Starscream manages to stay standing," The Monarch qualified. Even that became doubtful when Starscream rolled into a fetal position and again whimpered for Megatron.

Venture looked from the thoroughly beaten robot to the man who could not, in any conceivable way, qualify as his arch-nemesis.

"Let me get this straight. You teamed up with a giant robot to build a giant robot so you could steal my giant robot?"

"Yes?" The Monarch looked confused. Venture did not appear properly concerned or awestruck.

The scientist rolled his eyes, "Don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

"Wouldn't it have been easier just to build your own ninja giant robot so you wouldn't have to steal mine?"

The Monarch considered this hitherto unexplored possibility.

"Yeeeeeeeeee...no." He glared, "Shut up. I hate you." Pause. "And your ninja giant robot will be mine! Henchmen! Seize Dr. Venture!"

Until this familiar order, the situation existed outside the henchmen's realm of comprehension. They understood fighting fairly well, and they understood dying even better, but giant robots were downright confusing.

Here at last was a command for which every henchman prepared, and seizing Dr. Venture was an order they could not only understand, but obey with enthusiasm. The two remaining henchmen grabbed the scientist and pressed their dart guns to his throat.

With a renewed sense of triumph, The Monarch announced, "Autobots! Stop or I will kill Dr. Venture!"

Ironhide and Arcee stopped whomping Starscream and exchanged uncertain looks. Autobots had very explicit directives when it came to human lives, and hostage situations fell somewhere under them. Once they tapped into the larger database to reconfirm, both bots nodded then stepped away from Starscream. With slow and deliberate movements, they raised their hands in surrender.

No longer in blinding pain, Starscream wobbled to his feet, one hand gingerly pressed against his helmet. The nanomachines had begun basic field repairs, but the wiring was still sensitive from the damage. The Seeker glared then kicked Ironhide across the shins.

The soldier bot stumbled to his knees but did not switch his hand to gun-mode. "Aww, scrap! Not again," he muttered out of annoyance rather than fear.

This was the part of war that Starscream liked. "Auto-fools, you are now Decepticon prisoners."

"That's right," Monarch nodded in approval then gave Dr. Venture a pointed look. "Now order your ninja robot to stop fighting Flutterwing, and we will spare you and your family."

"My family isn't here."

"That's because I kidnapped them."

"Oh!" Venture smiled with sudden understanding. "So that's where the boys got off to!"

The Monarch paused then menacingly pointed his dart gun at the scientist, "Well? Do it. Obey my command!"

Venture's smile broadened into an oily smirk, "Mmm, I don't think so."

"What?" As his arm sagged in confusion, The Monarch took a step closer. "You are my hostage; you have no choice! I know about the Autobots' orders – they can do nothing to stop me!"

"Maybe not," the doctor admitted, "but Brock sure can."

Before The Monarch could retort, the henchmen let out agonizing screams. Their leader could only watch in horror as Samson pounced, clamping a hand around each of their dart guns then yanking so the Butterfly Darts shot harmlessly into the air.

Dr. Venture had enough sense to step out of splash-range as Brock took one of the henchmen by the neck and ripped out his spinal cord (a feat that said henchmen would have sworn was impossible not five seconds earlier), then proceeded to strangle the other henchmen with his comrade's missing vertebrae.

The Autobots appeared impressed, The Monarch terrified, but Dr. Venture studied his nails in boredom.

Meanwhile a blood-splattered Samson tossed the body aside as he turned toward The Monarch with single-minded purpose. The Monarch handled the situation as best he could. Rather than deciding between fight and flight, he wavered between flight and "fall on the ground in gibbering terror."

He compromised by backing away until his knees began to quake so badly that he could barely support his weight. Brock took a deliberate step forward, and The Monarch whimpered.

Only when a robotic voice called out, "Stop human!" did both men freeze.

Starscream grabbed Arcee and stepped behind her. He pressed his Nullray against her chin, "You too, Autobot. With this hostage, neither you nor your puny organic companion can attack me."

Brock disagreed.

"Walking Eye, transform!"

"Oh, don't bother, Brock," Venture hissed. "That thing only turns into a –" The Walking Eye's legs folded up inside the main sphere and it shrunk to the size and mass of a bowling ball. Venture appeared impressed. "Huh, so it's a triple-changer. Who'd have guessed?"

Now in its bowling ball alt mod, the Walking Eye rolled over to Brock, and in a single motion, the man picked it up and spun. The ball arced through the air, swift and elegant, as it sailed toward Starscream's face.

Brock did not miss.

As the ball smacked into the Seeker's nose, Arcee spun out of his grasp and punched him in the cockpit. Again Starscream hit the ground with a groan.

"You okay?" Brock asked in a disinterested drawl.

"Why yes, just fine, thank you, but I...oh," Dr. Venture trailed off as Brock went over to the pink mech.

"Yes," she admitted to the human. "You are very strong for a flesh organism."

She lowered a hand to scoop up Brock as Ironhide moved past. The soldier bot prodded Starscream with his foot, and this time the Seeker did not bother to moan.

"Say Starscream, looks like yer gonna be spending some quality time with us Autobots."

While Starsceam tried to order his vocal processors into a proper response, The Monarch pointed a diabolical finger at Venture.

"A clever scheme, Venture. Truly you are a worthy arch-nemesis of The Monarch!"

Venture rolled his eyes, "For the last time, I'm not your arch-nemesis."

As though he had not heard, The Monarch continued, "But as always you have underestimated the complexity of my plan, which is built upon layers and layers of deception and contingencies merely waiting for the right moment to come to fruition."

Venture explained, "I'm a super-cool scientist, you dress up as a butterfly. Thanks, but I'll wait for a _real_ arch-nemesis."

The Monarch continued, unperturbed by Venture's not listening, "What you could not have possibly known is that my creation, Flutterwing, has merely been biding his time, waiting for my command to finish your ninja robot with his deadly butterfly venom!"

"And what's up with this butterfly theme? Isn't it a bit, I don't know, emasculating for you and your men?"

"Flutterwing!" The Monarch jabbed his clenched fist skyward. "Finish off Duskbird!"

Nothing happened.

As nothing continued to happen, seconds dragging into long, painful minutes, Ironhide remarked, "Gee, them human-built bots are being awfully quiet, aren't they?"

Something creaked from inside the hangar. Humans and transformers alike leaned forward in anticipation. Another pause then several clanging noises – robotic shuffling – echoed into the Compound yard. Hand unit in hand unit, Duskbird and Flutterwing emerged.

Everyone stared.

"Hey, Dad," Flutterwing spoke at last, waggling fuchsia fingers at The Monarch. "I'm going to marry Duskbird."

Everyone stared harder.

The Monarch looked at Dr. Venture who appeared equally puzzled. Scratching behind his head, The Monarch raised an elongated eyebrow, "Marry? Is that some robot term or something? It means 'viciously maim and destroy' in your language, right?"

"It means your gay robot's gayness is contagious!" Venture snapped. "Duskbird, I forbid you from marrying that pink hussy! You have to come with me to the Scientific Symposium so everyone can see how amazing I am."

Duskbird's optics gleamed yellow as he bowed respectfully, "Honored Creator, I must decline. Although you gave me life, Flutterwing has given me the gift of love." The ninja bot gazed adoringly into Flutterwing's optics, causing the butterfly bot to preen nervously. "I have decided to give up my ninja ways, so I may lead a life of peace and harmony. We are moving to Canada to open a petting zoo."

"We want it to be both robo and homo-friendly," Flutterwing added with enthusiasm.

Venture smacked his palm against his forehead, "And here I was worrying about Dean."

Duskbird wrapped an arm around Flutterwing's abdomen section. "Flutterwing, it is time we departed," he murmured in his soft voice.

Flutterwing wrapped a pair of his four arms around the ninja before addressing The Monarch, "Dad, sorry about the change of plans." The robot turned to Venture, "We'll send you an invitation to the wedding!"

Flapping his mechanical wings, Flutterwing wafted off the ground. As the bots rose higher into the air and began to breeze away from the Compound, Venture mechanically waved, a smile remained fixed on his face. Out the corner of his mouth, he muttered, "Don't...don't bother."

Once they dwindled on the horizon, the scientist sagged, and his grin turned sickly. He shook his head in disappointment, "Guess it'll be another year before I stick it to those uppity bastards at the Symposium."

The roar of a truck engine caught his attention and he turned in time to see a cab-over-engine semi pull up, a VW bug and race car close behind. Although Venture did not expect the cars to transform, he could not muster the energy to be surprised.

In mere astroseconds, Optimus Prime had assessed the situation: Starscream captured, The Monarch wearing a sour look, the squishy remains of a handful of minions scattered across the yard.

In a booming voice, he began, "Wheeljack had returned to base to look for his missing invention when we received a warning that the Decepticons were attacking the Compound. We came as soon as we could."

Dr. Venture shrugged, "It was really only one Decepticon, but close enough."

"Is Duskbird secure?"

"In his sexuality, sure, but if you're asking whether he's here, the answer's no."

"Then where –?"

"He ran off with a pink butterfly bot that this fleshtube made," Ironhide gestured to The Monarch. "Said they're gettin' hitched."

"Well, I guess that love really does conquer all," Prime said with a laugh.

Bumblebee rolled his optics, "Primus! Do you always have to have the last word, Optimus?"

"Seriously," The Monarch muttered. "Shut up, you prick."

Ironhide looked askance at Bumblebee as he cleared his vocoder, "So Prime, what now? Should we take the human and Starscream prisoner?"

"As long as I don't have to share a cell with that ridiculous Earth-germ," Starscream hissed. "This is all your fault, Monarch! Between the name and the coloration, what did you expect?"

"What?" The Monarch shrieked back, "Like you're the epitome of heterosexuality! Flutterwing would have been just fine if he hadn't had you and Megatron as role models."

"If you're implying that Megatron and I are..." Starscream's optics widened but everyone else merely shrugged. "What? Megatron?!" He screeched. "Of all the illogical human notions..." Bumblebee sniggered behind his hand, and Starscream sputtered on, "I loathe that mech! Why would I...Why would he..." The Seeker looked around in desperation until his optics locked on Optimus, "Prime, tell them!"

"I make a point not to get involved in domestic disputes."

"Aaargh!" Ignoring the many guns still leveled at him, Starscream stumbled away and transformed. His alt mode wobbled from the wing damage, but otherwise he shot straight and true back to the Decepticon base, far away from the Venture Compound.

"Should we go after him?" Ironhide asked.

Optimus' optics glinted, "As I said, Ironhide, I don't get involved in domestic disputes."

Bumblebee and Wheeljack broke into laughter. Ironhide, on the other hand, looked around with growing confusion, "Hey, has anyone seen Arcee around?"

Arcee herself answered with a hearty scream that tore across the Venture Compound, "Primus, yes! Harder, flesh organism! Harder! Yeeeeeaaarrggh!!"

A clatter of falling boxes preceded a long and lingering, awkward silence. Ironhide shuffled a foot through the dirt and Wheeljack lowered the hands he had instinctively clapped over Bumblebee's auditory inputs.

Dr. Venture massaged his temple as if fighting a migraine, "Well, if anyone needs me, I'll be in my room beating my head against something large and heavy in a desperate attempt to get these images out of my head. Boys, you go to your room and – huh." He looked around with confusion, "Where the hell have those boys gotten off to anyway?"

After a moment of half-hearted glances across the Compound yard, Dr. Venture lost interest, shrugged his shoulders and went back inside.

Once again at a loss, silence returned until Wheeljack managed, "Sooooo, I guess that means mission, um, accomplished? Should we return to base?"

The Autobots regarded each other, and Ironhide exhaled through his ventilators. When he at last compiled the courage, he managed, "We gonna wait for Arcee?"

Prime shook his head, "No. Not this time. Er, let's roll out. She can catch up."

Optimus had never seen the Autobots so eager to transform and roll out. Bumblebee and Wheeljack shot ahead, with Prime and Ironhide following as close on their tailpipes as their sturdier alt modes allowed. A thick, winding trail of dust hovered in the air as they plotted a course for the Ark and raced home.

Only one figure remained on the Compound grounds. Surrounded by the bodies of his dead henchmen and brutal gashes in the soil where the robots had fought, The Monarch looked around with uncertainty.

"Could someone maybe..." He trailed off and began to fidget with his communicator. "21? 24? Are you there? Dr. Girlfriend? Dr. Girlfriend?" He paused then tried in a soft but increasingly desperate tone, "Tenderoni?"

After a moment of listening to soft, uninterrupted static, The Monarch slumped.

"Aw, f∗∗∗ it. I'll call a cab."


	6. Epilogue

**To Catch a 'Bot**

Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Venture Bros belongs to Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.

**Notes:**  
A pointless wrap up to a pointless fic. I've always wanted to write a song fic, and now I have :D.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Hank and Dean wandered across the desert. Although they were lost, they did not realize it and continued their investigation with enthusiasm undampened .

"Magic Tape Deck! Give us a clue!" Dean cried, and Hank happily pushed the "play" button.

_"Runny nose and runny yolk  
Even if you have a cold still  
You can cough on me again  
I still haven't had my fulfill._

_In the someday what's that sound?  
In the someday what's that sound?  
In the someday what's that sound?  
In the someday what's that sound?"_

"Awww, c'mon! This thing is broken." Hank shook the tape deck in frustration.

_"Broken heart and broken bones  
Think of how a castrated horse feels  
One more quirky cliche'd phrase  
You're the one I wanna refill."_

"It keeps played this same song over and over again," he complained.

Dean shook his head, "That's just part of the mystery. It means we have to keep looking for the Clue of Clues."

"Wait, I found it!" Hank excitedly pointed to the horizon. "See over there? Those are abandoned buildings. Like a Boom Town or something!"

"Boom Town?" Dean asked with a smile, "More like Clue Town!"

"What? That doesn't even rhyme."

"It's a half-rhyme, silly."

"Go Team Venture!"

_"In the someday what's that sound?  
In the someday what's that sound?  
In the someday what's that sound?  
In the someday what's that sound?"_

Soundwave hated himself and wanted to die.


End file.
